


I Kinda Want To Be More Than Friends

by millersmonty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Morning After, Post Season 2 AU, Stiles has a bad habit of jumping to conclusions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5228465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millersmonty/pseuds/millersmonty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembers hesitantly leaning over and settling his head on Jackson’s shoulder a while later, and thinking that he could always blame it on the wine if Jackson pushed him away. He didn’t. And he remembers, with perfect clarity now, the butterflies in his stomach when Jackson had slowly leaned over to kiss him, and the sweet taste of Moscato on Jackson’s lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Kinda Want To Be More Than Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the second day of Stackson Week 2015. Not beta read at all, so if you see any errors feel free to tell me.

 Stiles wakes slowly. He feels the sun hitting his face and can make out the brightness through his eyelids, but he can’t quite pry them open yet. He stretches his right leg out in front of him slowly, like moving through water, and drags his left hand up to rest between his chin and the pillow. He feels like his limbs are lead. He always gets this way after a night of truly deep sleep, but that’s been rare for a while now. Most nights he either can’t sleep at all, or spends hours tossing and turning from physical discomfort and a restless mind. There’s a tick in the back of his mind that tells him it should probably be a red flag that something is different, but he’s too heavy and rested to care at the moment. As his brain starts to come to life he registers that he’s laying curled up on his left side. That’s odd, since he almost always sleeps either on his back or facing the other direction. He has a vague realization that the sheets feel different too; softer and more luxurious somehow.

With every bit of his mind that slowly awakens, Stiles notices something new. He can’t smell the plug-in air freshener next to his bed, instead he picks up hints of a warm, strong cologne. He knows it from somewhere. He can’t hear The Coleman’s big border collie barking across the street like every other morning, either. There are the loud, shrill sounds of children next door, though. Since when are there children next door? And why can’t he smell coffee and bacon from downstairs? Why is the house so quiet, instead of the usual creaking of old wood and the squeak of a loose gutter and the repetitive tapping of that one bad shingle that his dad has been meaning to fix for years? He’s about to open his eyes and see what’s up, but he’s shocked into stillness by the feeling of an arm wrapping around his waist. It feels warm, and muscular, and squeezes him tightly for a moment before relaxing, and Stiles is fully awake now. He should probably be embarrassed that’s it’s taken him this long to figure out the most important detail of all. He’s completely naked.

His eyes shoot open and he realizes why everything feels so different. It’s because he’s not in his room or his house or his neighborhood. This bedroom is twice the size of his, and it’s neat and organized where his is a chaotic mess. As he takes in everything in his field of vision, memories of the night before start coming back to him.

He remembers how studying for Trig with Jackson, Lydia, Danny, Erica, and Isaac eventually turned into sitting on the couch watching Netflix and drinking the Whittemore’s wine with just Jackson. He remembers feeling a bright spark of something when, after a few hours, they had shifted so close together that there was no space between them, and neither of them bothered to move. He remembers Jackson talking animatedly with his hands when he went on a rant about the awful teen supernatural show they were watching, and the warmth of Jackson’s hand as it finally landed on Stiles’ thigh when Jackson settled down. Neither of them moved then, either. He remembers hesitantly leaning over and settling his head on Jackson’s shoulder a while later, and thinking that he could always blame it on the wine if Jackson pushed him away. He didn’t. And he remembers, with perfect clarity now, the butterflies in his stomach when Jackson had slowly leaned over to kiss him, and the sweet taste of Moscato on Jackson’s lips.

Stiles knows they stayed on the couch making out for what felt like eons, before Jackson literally picked him up like he weighed nothing (and Stiles had never been more grateful for werewolf-induced super strength) and took him upstairs to his bedroom. It all feels like a blur in his memory now, like flashes of moments and feelings instead of one continuous event. He remembers being anxious and terrified when Jackson started pulling off their clothes. He remembers the way Jackson’s skin looked in the mix of moonlight and shadows, and the ticklish feeling when Jackson traced the moles on his torso with his lips, and the way the muscles in Jackson’s back and arms felt under his shaking hands. He remembers his mind being a constant thrum of Jackson’s name, and he thinks he might have been saying it out loud too, because he knows he felt Jackson chuckle against his neck while biting him there. He can’t remember when Jackson moved to get the lube and a condom, but he knows he suddenly felt both beside him on the mattress. He remembers the sharp sting when Jackson finally entered him, and the way Jackson kissed him to distract from the discomfort, and how the discomfort slowly faded into pleasure. Everything else is just fragments of hands and freckles and kisses and moonlight and the taste of wine and a jumbled cacophony of _YesGodJacksonPleaseStilesYesPerfectMine_.

Stiles figures they must have fallen asleep pretty quickly after, because he can’t remember much between finishing and waking up now. Panic slowly starts to creep in, but he can’t really tell what he’s even panicking about. He certainly never thought he would end up in Jackson Whittemore’s bed, but maybe it’s not so bad. Stiles knows there’s been a growing attraction on his part for a while now. At some point his newly formed friendship with Jackson started to change as they got closer, but Stiles never figured it was mutual. Jackson flirts with almost everyone, after all, so Stiles was able to brush aside the moments when he seemed interested as just a case of Jackson being Jackson. But clearly Jackson _was_ interested, since he seemed to have no reservations about moving their relationship ahead ten steps last night.

But…they _had_ been drinking. Stiles knows he wasn’t drunk, just pleasantly buzzed, but what’s to say Jackson wasn’t a little further gone? Maybe he was just horny, and Stiles was there, and it was an easy way to get off. The thought made Stiles’ stomach turn over. Being a one-time, drunken, easy fuck to Jackson was about a million times worse than not getting to be anything to Jackson at all. At least one-sided attraction that never went anywhere wouldn’t be so humiliating. Not as much as being just another notch in Jackson Whittemore’s bedpost, at least.

It’s the warm press of Jackson cuddling up closer behind him that brings Stiles back to attention. Stiles has heard plenty of stories about Jackson’s escapades since he and Lydia broke up, and he knows very well that Jackson doesn’t do this. He doesn’t do cuddling in the afterglow and staying the night and waking up curled together in the morning. He doesn’t do repeats or dates or anything that’s more permanent than one night. He doesn’t need to, really, since there’s always someone new wanting to get a piece of him. But Stiles has never done this before, being the embarrassingly inexperienced virgin that he is (or was, rather), and he feels so woefully out of his depth. Should he make a run for it before Jackson wakes up and things get weird? He really doesn’t want to have to deal with the awkward, pitying explanation that he’s sure Jackson would give him.

Stiles manages to work his way out from under Jackson’s arm, slowly but surely, but he only gets one foot planted on the floor before he hears a grumble from behind him and feels Jackson reach out and settle a hand around his hip.

“Where y’ going?,” Jackson mumbles, shuffling around in the sheets. Stiles freezes, but can bring himself to turn around. “’s too early. Come back.”

If Stiles weren’t freaking out so much, he would be able to appreciate how adorable Jackson is when he’s all warm and sleepy. As it is, he can only focus on trying to calm his racing heart beat long enough to come up with an excuse that would get him out of here with as little embarrassment as possible. He’s too focused to notice that Jackson has moved to sit up behind him, and the hand that was resting on his hip is now gently rubbing his side. He feels Jackson’s chest press against his back, and Jackson’s breath softly hit his neck when he speaks.

“What’s wrong? You’re freaking out.”

“I-I was just…I…uh…need to go.”

Jackson’s hands drop from his body and he slides back on the bed, and Stiles suddenly notices the chill of the room that he hadn’t felt before. Jackson’s natural body heat was doing a great job of keeping him warm, and now he can’t stop the goosebumps that come up all over his body. Stiles quickly grabs for his boxers on the floor and pulls them on with as much grace as a drunk kangaroo. He’s just managed to find his shirt and is working on turning it right side out, trying to avoid looking at Jackson sitting on the bed, when he hears Jackson sigh.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even think. God,” Jackson says, and when Stiles looks up he’s got his head in his hands.

Stiles can’t figure out what on earth Jackson would have to apologize for, unless sleeping with Stiles really is a colossal mistake to him. He clutches his shirt to his chest and shifts nervously on his feet. Here it comes, the ‘this never should have happened you can’t tell anyone and while we’re at it just stay away from me please’ speech. He watches Jackson rub his hands through his messy hair a few times before he finally looks at Stiles again, and God, he really is gorgeous. No one should look like that first thing in the morning.

When he finally speaks again he almost knocks Stiles off his feet. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that. I’m…God you must hate me.”

And…what? Stiles is gaping like a fish and his eyes feel like they’re about to fall out of his head with how wide open they are. He doesn’t even know where to begin with addressing that statement.

“You… _what are you talking about?_ ,” is all he can manage to say.

“You were drunk,” Jackson answers, “And you’re clearly regretting it now, and I should have known. I’m sorry, Stiles.”

Stiles registers the fact that they’re clearly not on the same page here. At all.

“You didn’t,” Stiles says, “Take advantage of me, I mean. I wanted what we did last night. And I wasn’t even that drunk.”

Now Jackson is the one who looks confused. He’s looking at Stiles like he’s clearly lost his mind. He furrows his brows in a way that shouldn’t be as cute as it is, and leans back on his hands.

“Then why are you trying to get away from me like I’ve got the damn plague?”

Stiles feels his face and neck get hot, and he knows he must be turning pink. He shifts his gaze away from Jackson, trying to find anything else to focus on. He’s still holding his shirt crumpled up in his hands against his chest, and he’s very aware of how awkward he must look. He’s still trying to come up with an answer when Jackson speaks again.

“Would you get over here and talk to me? You’re freaking me out, Stiles.”

Stiles slowly makes his way back to the bed and sits down, only half facing Jackson. He’s brimming with nervous energy, and it’s manifesting in his leg jiggling and his hands restlessly fiddling on his lap. He stills when Jackson puts one of his hands over both of Stiles’, and uses the other to tilt his face up so they’re making eye contact again. He moved closer when Stiles wasn’t looking, and now there are only a few inches between them.

“Talk to me. Please,” Jackson whispers. He looks so earnest and concerned that there’s no way Stiles could refuse. He’s starting to think that he couldn’t refuse Jackson anything anyway.

“I just…I know how this works. You do one night stands and backseat hook-ups. I figured I’d head out before you woke up. Save you the trouble of having to kick me out, right?” Stiles gives a breathy chuckle at that, even though there’s no real humor there and he feels like his stomach is in his throat.

Jackson looks like he’s about to say something, but instead he leans in and presses his lips to Stiles’, firm but still gentle. Stiles remembers him being that way last night too. When he pulls away he’s smiling, and Stiles feels dazed.

“Trust me, Stiles,” He says, “I had no intention of kicking you out. I was thinking more along the lines of a shower and some breakfast, and maybe round two if you were feeling up to it.”

Stiles feels a smile creeping onto his own face, and he realizes that he must have had it wrong this whole time. He kisses Jackson again, just because he can, and feels a sense of satisfaction when Jackson leans into it. He braces one hand on Jackson’s chest, partly to push him away and partly to keep himself from completely falling into the other boy. There’s also a small part of him that just wants to feel Jackson’s chest under his hands. When they separate, Stiles feels giddy and relieved, and he bites his lip to contain his grin somewhat. He watches Jackson’s eyes track the movement.

“So…not a random, one time thing, then?”

He asks. Jackson shakes his head, and runs his thumb over Stiles’s jaw when he answers. “I know I’ve done some shitty things to you over the years, but I wouldn’t do that to you. I’ve wanted you for a while now.”

“Me too,” Stiles says, fully grinning now.

“And, it was good for you, right?” Jackson asks, “I didn’t hurt you or anything? I was trying to be careful, but I think I wolfed out a few times.”

Stiles ducks his head and feels his blush deepen. “It was…yeah. It was great. Totally…y’know, fine.”

He sees Jackson’s shoulders shaking and knows he must me laughing. Stiles can’t help it, and he starts giggling too. He leans slightly to his left, closing the space between them, and feels his side make full contact with Jackson’s chest. They both laugh for a few moments before Stiles straightens up and looks Jackson in the eye again. He feels light and happy, and the morning sun is doing wonderful things for Jackson’s perfect skin, giving him a golden glow that matches the feeling in Stiles’ chest.

“It was perfect.” He says, and he means it.

Jackson leans in to kiss him again, and Stiles knows he wont ever get sick of that. When they pull apart Jackson leans back in and bumps their noses together, and it’s almost enough to make Stiles start laughing again. He thinks he understands what the phrase ‘love drunk’ means now.

“So,” Jackson says, leaning back and opening up the space between them again, “how about that shower and breakfast? I make some pretty great French toast.”

Stiles just nods, and doesn’t try to resist at all when Jackson stands up and pulls him by the hand to the big adjoining bathroom.


End file.
